


No Gold, No Glory

by GrimHeaperr



Series: Poisoned Youth [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Gen, Gladiator AU, M/M, Major Character Injury, SHEITH - Freeform, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:29:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8498899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimHeaperr/pseuds/GrimHeaperr
Summary: Shiro's Story in the Poisoned Youth series.
Six year after being kidnapped from his home, Shiro is in the works of becoming the prized fighter of the Zarkon Empire. He hates following Zarkon's orders, but defying the King is not a luxury Shiro can afford. Shiro alone fights for the well being of his family. There's murmurs of a resistance, but would it be worth the danger?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Here's a crack at my gladiator AU that's been in the back of my mind for some time... I plan on making this a series~ It's sort of practice for me as a writer because I am not good with slow builds;; (see: Dark Sunsets) and I'm trying to polish my fanfiction skill since I mostly write for pleasure for myself and friends LOL.
> 
> I welcome all criticism. How else well I get better? LOL.

A bead of sweat dribbled down Shiro’s face, his breathing ragged and eyes in a daze. He was sitting down on an infirmary bench, focusing on his callouses, his fingernails, his veins. He vaguely feels the medic lift his leg and tell him that it is going to hurt, whatever _it_ is. Shiro only nods, grinding his teeth together and squeezing his hands into fists so tight he can feel what nails he has digging into his rough palms.

He sees the movement of the medic stick a syringe in the upper part of his leg, vaguely hearing, “You’ll be numb soon.” The women looked at him with worried eyes, and continued cleaning the open wound as best as she could without hurting Shiro too much -- but it burned, burned, _burned_.

Shiro hissed, leaning back and feeling a tingling sensation suffocate his leg. The warm wind blew sand into his wound, causing Shiro to dig his fingernails into the wooden bench he was sitting on.

“Try focusing on something else.” The women offered quietly and quickly, the sound of her medic box rattling as she opened it.

Shiro looked up toward the sky - the clear blue almost a bright orange as the sun had just began to set for the day. The heat clung to his sweaty body aggressively. His throat burned for water, but he had to get taken care of first. He could hear Sendak’s gruff, cruel voice saying, “Why waste water on a dead man?” He wasn’t dead, far from it. He had things to do, people to take care of, a sentence to carry out. If he dies now, it’s over for his family. His mother and father and little sister, kept somewhere on the edges of the Galran Kingdom, forced into labor, or perhaps, living comfortably as Shiro was promised those many years ago. He hopes and hopes they are still alive, and the only sign of them living is a crumpled letter he receives once a month that he is never allowed to reply to. He thinks of his mother’s face, wrinkled from years of laughter and hands soft with love and care from her years of living. He recalls the scar on her forehead that she attained in her youth from tumbling down a rocky hill. His father, a burly old man whose hands that were similar to how Shiro’s hands are now - rough and calloused, with nicks and scars from various activities he had done throughout his life -- had a lifetime of grievances adorning his face. He was the kind of man Shiro inspired to be: a pillar of strength, never cruel but kind. His younger sister, just a toddler when Shiro was snatched away from their home. She was the spitting image of Shiro, who was the perfect split between their parents' genes. She had their father’s charcoal eyes and their mother’s black, fine hair. Back then, the villagers always joked she was Shiro’s baby, and his mother would always reply, “She might as well be! They are never apart!”

He found a smile creeping onto his face, his leg completely numb. It’s been six years since then, and all he could remember was the broken cries of his mother and sister and the pleading voice of his father. Maybe his sister forgot what he looked like. Maybe his parents would no longer recognize him. Maybe Shiro would no longer recognize them. Shiro’s lean muscle was now more prominent; he had strong arms and legs, and a chest that made even the soldiers jealous. His skin was even darker now from sun exposure, and his hair had streaks of grey due to the constant stress he had to endure for these past six years.

“You’re nearly done.”

Shiro had forgotten the about the medic, who smiled up a him with a needle poised between her fingers. He watched as she finished, and thanked her accordingly, regretting he couldn’t remember her name. Shiro watched her leave, making sure the other medics left her alone as she left, seeing how Shiro always seems to spot her in an uncomfortable position.

As she left without much hassle just as Lance came running in, sandals slapping against his feet as he made his way toward Shiro.

“Shiro! Buddy! Thank god–” Lance flung himself onto Shiro, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Shiro laughed sheepishly, and waved at Hunk who approached a little slower than Lance did.

“We totally thought you were a goner, man!” Hunk took Shiro’s hand in his, a little nervously caressing the rough fingers. “I was like, ‘There is no way Shiro’s leg is bleeding that much, that’s physically impossible especially since Pidge designed the armor but maybe it’s time to upgrade’ is what I thought and–”

“I’m fine Hunk, really.” Shiro assured him, patting Lance’s head as he obnoxiously nuzzled Shiro’s neck. “I just need a couple of days to heal and I’ll be fine, I’ve had worse.” At that, Shiro could feel every scar on his body tingle, as if the scars knew he had mentioned them.

“That doesn’t stop it from hurting, though.” Lance commented, peeling himself off from Shiro and fixing his pteruges. Shiro gave him a weak smile as a response and Lance sighed. “Me n’ Hunk came to help you back to your quarters, Shiro.”

"Are you done with your duties, or are you avoiding them as usual?" The two spluttered their responses nervously, vaguely motioning with their hands and arm that they were finished for the day. Shiro chuckled lightly. "Alright, alright. Thank you."

Lance and Hunk pulled Shiro off the infirmary bench, taking their places underneath the weight of Shiro’s arms.

 

 

“How’d you end up with that anyway?” Lance asked, eyeing the stitches that poked out from beneath the white bandage wrap. Shiro sighed, long and exhaustedly. He put a little more weight on Hunk’s side, and looked over to Hunk who nodded.

“There was a particularly dirty fighter I was put up against, and I figured he would have killed me if Zarkon had not left after he had cut open my leg.” Shiro remembers in vivid detail: The spear plunging into his leg and the fighter twisting it before pulling it out again, Shiro's broken screams, the cheers of the crowd, watching Zarkon leave, the relief of him leaving affecting him more than the freshly new wound, and the disappointed look of Myzax’s face. “Remind me to never have another run in with Myzax.”

“Myzax?” Lance repeated, bewildered. “I thought Myzax was transferred to the labor sector?” Shiro hummed, leaning his head back as the three made their way to the slave quarters.

“I guess I was just unlucky enough to be a part of his welcoming party.”

The three of them didn’t say anything afterwards, all lost in their own thoughts. They knew Haggar, Zarkon’s right hand, picked the competitors with a deranged pleasure, but none of them said anything. Shiro was currently her favorite, and in turn, Zarkon’s. He had lost in a test of strength today and would have to face the consequences of his lost eventually.

He didn’t want to think about it.

The orange of the sunset had now shifted to the dark blues of night, the last sliver of red disappearing as the three of them walked to where Shiro’s small dwelling was located; far from the arena and a little further from the slave quarters. Lance elbowed the door open and the two helped Shiro onto the couch. Hunk went to grab a cup of water and Lance went to the washroom to run the bathwater.

“I can’t thank you guys enough,” Shiro told them, earnestly. Lance crinkled his nose and rubbed his upper lip with the length of his forefinger. Hunk blushed sheepishly. The two always helped Shiro when he was injured, which always happened to be at least once a week. Of course, Shiro returned the favor when possible. The three of them have built up an unwavering trust over the past few years.

“I got the rest from here, guys. Lance you have a fight tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Don’t remind me.” was his response, the sentence mixed in with a loud groan.

“Go get some rest. Hunk, make sure he’s not wandering around the city until dawn.” Lance protested as Hunk saluted, grabbing Lance after the washtub was filled. “Have a good night, and good luck tomorrow.”

“I’ll stop by tomorrow morning to check on you.” Shiro just waved Hunk off, and the two left, their hushed bickering silenced by the sound of the door closing behind them.

Shiro grabbed the cup from in front of him and gulped his water down slowly, savoring the refreshing sensation it left in his throat’s wake before limping over to the washroom and undressing himself carefully to sponge himself clean. Whatever the nurse had injected in him left his leg numb for the rest of the night, even as he crawled into his cot.

The weariness dawned on Shiro the moment he laid down, his eyelids heavy. He let himself fall asleep quickly, and without worry.

He has had enough of today, and who knows? Tomorrow might be better.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please leave a comment or kudos, it is very much appreciated!
> 
> You can also like/reblog it on tumblr [here](http://grimkohai.tumblr.com/post/152714587259/poisoned-youth)


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